


Another Use For Gold

by fideliant



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Fisting, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Intergluteal Sex, Kink Meme, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sex Toys, Thorin is a horndog, wow that's a lot of porny tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fideliant/pseuds/fideliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo gets a nice present from his boyfriend for his birthday. He doesn't quite know what to think of it, but as luck would have it, Thorin gladly does all the explaining for him. Thorin even uses a couple of words along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Use For Gold

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9001237#t9001237) porn request on the kinkmeme, though it sort of spiraled way out of control after the first three thousand words or so. ~~I'm not even sorry~~ I'm very, very sorry.
> 
> Remember when I said that _Catch A Dwarf By His Sword_ was the filthiest thing I'd ever written? I take it way back now.

Somehow, impossibly, Bilbo thought that being in a relationship with Thorin Oakenshield was degrees more exhilarating and terrifying than signing on to burglarise a dragon’s den.

Let it be known that the integrity of his resolution had absolutely nothing to do with it at all; he was perfectly capable of holding his ground and saying no to anything that he did not want to do, as restricted a range of things it was. Respectable hobbits such as he were by nature helpful and acceding, willing to go through any reasonable amount of trouble to make anyone the slightest bit happier, and that would make him happy as well by induction.

Only…only he hadn’t predicted what had happened after the fighting was done and good, when all the wargs and orcs and goblins had been either slain or forced back into their terricolous existences. Couldn’t have in the slightest. Then there was also that nasty affair with being knocked out cold for what he estimated was at least two hours at least, which he had not enjoyed in the slightest, but he knew that it could have turned out a lot worse if it wasn’t for his magic ring.

But back on topic, Bilbo thought with some grudgingly thankful hindsight, he hadn’t factored in actually coming face-to-face with Thorin again when it was all over. Sure, the prospect had flickered in his thoughts once or twice after being expelled from Erebor in disgrace, though bridges were bridges and he was rather well versed at crossing them when he came to them.

“Halfling,” Thorin had said, glancing up at Bilbo through locks of bloodied hair. Bilbo tried to think of a reply, but something about Thorin being battered and bruised, but above all, _alive,_ made him absolutely wonderful to look at. The dwarf king had open wounds upon his face and there was a bandage wrapped around his torso, and the way he sat on his cot suggested that he’d been through much worse. Bilbo was aware of how dirty he himself appeared as well, but it didn’t seem like much of an issue to Thorin. Bilbo had feasted his eyes on the dwarf king for a full minute, barely feeling anything even as Thorin limped up to him and looked him in the face and then pressed his lips to his.

 _Oh,_ Bilbo thought, closing his eyes. _I see._

Being the significant other of the King under the Mountain in the aftermath of the Battle of The Five Armies came with its own problems. For one thing, the returning dwarves could hardly refer to Bilbo as their queen, and it was entirely out of the question to have two Kings, something that Bilbo was more than willing to agree to. _The Hobbit under the Mountain_ was a title he honestly could have done without, but Bilbo assumed the tiresome epithet anyway for the sake of formality, to Thorin’s approval and pleasure.

Then there was the issue of residence — he had planned all along on returning to Bag End once the entire harebrained adventure had concluded, but attaching himself to Thorin meant attaching himself to Erebor, which presented a conundrum as Bilbo did not want to give up the Shire completely. Eventually they had most of his things shipped over, and with Thorin promising to spent every summer of theirs in the Shire together, Bilbo had little to complain about.

And he genuinely liked being with Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf with the steely eyes and rumbling voice and attritive pride was surprisingly an awfully romantic partner, showing his affection for Bilbo in ways the hobbit would never have guessed of him in a thousand years, like the way he lavished him with kisses at breakfast or with the most extravagant of gifts even when there wasn’t anything in particular to commemorate, the latter of which Bilbo did not approve of; the endless coffers of Erebor were surely not meant to be blown on a meek hobbit who just happened to have fallen in love with the king.

And Thorin loved him back with a fierce protectiveness. On his watch, he constantly asked after Bilbo’s health and safety, delegating a team of guards to shuffle everywhere the hobbit went where he himself could not follow by circumstance, which Bilbo found ghastly annoying, and it was only after slipping off on his own multiple times using his handy ring that Thorin finally acquiesced and called them off.

Still, he persisted in coddling Bilbo, to his chagrin. Not to mention that one markedly vicious thunderstorm where Thorin had insisted on holding Bilbo tight to his person in the room that they shared, cooing reassurances and sweet words at him even though Bilbo pointed out that it was just the first crash of thunder that had startled him. He hadn’t even been properly frightened anyway, a little bit shocked, perhaps, but Thorin was entirely immovable and wrapped another thick fur around Bilbo, petting his hair gently.

They carried themselves drastically differently in mixed company. Thorin was a king, after all, and it was expected of him to behave as such. Bilbo had a little bit more leeway in terms of gifting fond kisses and holding hands when surrounded by Thorin’s cousins and subjects and advisers, and exploited the living hell out of that. Mostly it was to get back at Thorin, embarrass him a little bit, especially after all that happened when they got anything longer than an hour alone.

At instances it would seem that the only thing that Thorin could want more than Bilbo was Bilbo naked and squirming with arousal, preferably with him inside of Bilbo. The first time was not a day after the war, where one moment Bilbo had been carefully rinsing out Thorin’s wounds with disinfectant and suddenly the dwarf had him by the collar and was branding a kiss on his lips. The speed at which it had escalated could have gotten them to the Shire and back by the day’s end, as Thorin’s hand invaded Bilbo’s pants and gleefully come into contact with his stiffening cock, and then the cot which had been made for one wounded dwarf was suffering under the weight of one wounded dwarf and his hobbit caretaker, both too turned on to care about the way the wood was creaking in distress at every movement.

By any race’s standards, Thorin was incredibly virile and horny and had every intention of letting it show, as if to actively spoil everyone and everything else for Bilbo. Which, of course, was under way about a month into regular and intense fucking of nearly every kind, ranging from fifteen-minute quickies that took place just about anywhere with anything resembling a flat surface to twenty-four hours of slothing in bed whilst completely nude, taking turns to get each other off.

He appreciated the sex nearly as much as the unfailingly heartwarming love. Having abstained for a considerable number of years, getting back into the business was immensely satisfying, especially since his last shag had ended along with his relationship. He had been frightened to commit to anyone else since then, a fear that dispelled quickly once Thorin apparently had dedicated himself to discovering every perceptible way to make Bilbo beg and plead and squeal in bed. It made him feel healthy and happy and unimaginably filthy all at the same time, which was a frankly wonderful feeling that magnified itself whenever he traded glances with Thorin, grinning and smitten and completely head over heels for him. It became hard for Bilbo to look at him with a straight face knowing he was inside the night before, torturing the walls with earnest curses made in pleasure.

Their relationship was a passionate if not an adventurous one. Thorin liked Bilbo to beg. Bilbo liked Thorin to moan and groan and swear at him as he let his fingers do all the work. And they were always open to trying out new things, figuratively and literally. He’d fucked himself open on Thorin’s thumbs once, and after that made water inside Thorin before coming just to see what it was like. They both agreed that it wasn’t very pleasurable at all.

It never discouraged them, though, which Bilbo was thankful for.

“Happy birthday, Bilbo.” Thorin hauled him into a bonecrushing hug and kissed him, salty and hot and smelling like a smithy.

“Um, yes, thank you very much for remembering. For remembering all of last month, actually.” There’d been a countdown of sorts where Thorin wished him a happy birthday in advance every day for the past month, which Bilbo thought would have been a bit excessive if it weren’t so endearing. He reciprocated the kiss on Thorin’s large nose, which had a faint dark smudge on it.

The dwarf held out a wooden box with a bow tied around it. “Your present,” he explained. “Of mine own craft. Specially made for you.”

“Oh, thank you, you really shouldn’t have!” Bilbo held the box to his ear and shook it, listening to whatever it was rattle around. “Am I allowed to guess what it is?”

“Open it and see,” Thorin said, smiling.

Bilbo untied the ribbon and slid it off the box, taking note of the dimensions. It wasn’t very large, but wasn’t what he would call small either; not small enough to be a piece of jewellery, but not large enough to be a weapon, both of which were categories into which Bilbo thought he could fit every present Thorin had given to him since they settled down in Erebor. Curiosity nagging at him, he lifted the lid and blinked at what was inside.

On a mat of purple velvet was what appeared to be a golden pipe. No, not a pipe on second thought — there wasn’t a mouthpiece, nor were there any openings to be seen. Bilbo lifted the thing out of the box and studied it, trying to figure out exactly what it was. The golden object was roughly ten inches long in total and reasonably thick, its circumference just about right for Bilbo to wrap his fingers around it. It was gently ribbed, a minor curve to the whole length of the object, and it was of uneven weight, growing heavier towards one of its ends, and as he studied it he saw that it was bulbed slightly at that part. The centre portion almost felt empty, as though it had been hollowed out deliberately. The other side of the object was wrapped completely in a sheet of boiled leather and had grooves notched into it, as if to fit nicely into a hand. As he turned it, light shone off its curved surface, which had been buffed down to an impossibly smooth texture lined with striations, somewhat unnaturally smooth for any sort of metal.

“Um,” Bilbo started. “Th — thank you! It’s very pretty, Thorin. But could — could I ask, what exactly is it?”

Thorin’s face darkened. “You’ve seen it many times over, just not in solid gold.”

Bilbo pressed the thing against his palm. It felt familiar, somehow, like he’d touched something very similar before. He touched the globed end as the puzzle pieces clicked together. “Oh,” he said, his eyes widening as he stared at it. “Oh.”

“It’s a accurate replica, in case you’re wondering,” Thorin explained. “When it’s fullest, or at least somewhere near.”

“I…I see. Wow.” For some reason, holding a golden model of Thorin’s erect cock wasn’t as bizarre as Bilbo thought it should have been. He wouldn’t have been ecstatic if it was a tea farm or a new waistcoat, wouldn’t have put it past Thorin to settle on giving him a blowjob or a good nice bottoming, but getting a dildo for his birthday definitely wasn’t what he was expecting, that was for sure.

Thorin’s eyes were conspicuously shiny. “Do you — do you want to try it out tonight?”

He set the dildo back into the box. “What?”

Thorin stepped up to him, and a wave of body odour and heat and musk hit Bilbo in his face. It was possibly the most arousing thing he had ever smelled in his life. Picking the golden dick out of the box, Thorin ringed his thumb and forefinger together and pushed the thing through, tracing his lips with his tongue. “I’ll put this up inside of you,” he whispered in Bilbo’s ear, “and then I’ll enter you myself when you’re nice and soft and open and I’ll come right there, inside of you.”

A heated flush clawed its way down from Bilbo’s chin to his groin. He shifted his legs slightly, swallowing dry. The image of Thorin holding the dildo and forcing it into him was a frightful one — he’d never taken anything that was harder than Thorin’s cock before — but all the same he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like. “You will?” he squeaked softly.

“And more.” He put his face on Bilbo’s shoulder and held him. “Your first birthday here — I’ll make it a night for you to remember.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Bilbo joked, but he lost all his air and his thoughts derailed themselves as Thorin branded his lips with another stultifying kiss.

 

 

 

That night, after being chased from their bedroom by Thorin to give him time to get ready, Bilbo rapped on the door lightly, holding his dressing-gown around himself (Thorin had done away with the drawstrings long ago; “Troublesome,” he had growled in Bilbo’s ear as he cut them away with a knife) and carrying the box against his stomach.

“Come in,” Thorin called.

When Bilbo stepped into their bedroom, the first thing he became aware of was the fact that there were petals underneath his feet. Then came a smell of light perfume and a homely warmth, and as his eyes adjusted to the dimness he saw Thorin lounging on their bed in his furred nightrobe. All their sheets had been changed to some kind of shimmery, gossamer-like material that rippled with the candlelights that bathed the room orange. There were candles on the bedside table that he was in the middle of lighting, and once he saw that Bilbo had entered, Thorin romped off the bed to stand in front of Bilbo. He looked down at him, eyes exploring his diminutive hobbit body, and dropped his head down to kiss his forehead.

“You look amazing tonight,” he murmured, placing his hands on Bilbo’s neck.

“Thanks. You too.” Bilbo met his lips with his own and lapped at Thorin’s tongue, the box containing the dildo between their stomachs, its corners poking their ribs. Hissing, Thorin seized the box and threw it onto the bed, where the lid popped off and the dildo rolled onto their blanket.

“Nothing between us for now,” Thorin said, letting his hands slip under the collar of Bilbo’s gown to rub his collarbones. The movement drifted the gown apart, baring Bilbo just a little bit. He stared him down greedily, his breathing shallow and noisy. “Tonight, you belong to me. All of you.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Another impatient flick of Thorin’s wrists, and the garment wound up clinging to Bilbo’s shoulders by a fraction of stubborn fabric. He kissed Thorin’s eyelids, pushing back the folds of Thorin’s robe and running his fingers over the luxuriously dark hair on his chest. For a few seconds, that was all he let himself have, gripping handfuls of Thorin’s chest hair and knotting his fingers into it, then returning his hands to contact with the skin of Thorin’s muscular chest. Bilbo found the flaccid nubs of his nipples and gave them a playful tug, enticing them to pebble in his grip, and when they were peaked and rounded he rolled them slowly between his thumb and forefinger.

Meanwhile, Thorin was making good use of his hands and mouth, as Bilbo had come to expect of him. He slid his calloused palms down Bilbo’s sides, resting at his waist over the bulge of his hipbones, then to his pubis where his fingers skimmed the borderline of Bilbo’s pubic hair. His hand slipped under him to cup his cock and he pulled the skin back and over his glans, teasing at the slit with his little finger. He kissed the sides of Bilbo’s throat, sucking at three different spots, raising angry red marks and mouthed words along his right clavicle. He moved downward, dragging his lips over bare skin, touching but not kissing until he reached the hollow of his neck and dropped another kiss there, repeating it at the tip of his breastbone and over his right nipple, where Thorin swiped his tongue mischievously and grinned at the noise Bilbo made.

The gown slid off Bilbo’s shoulders as he curved his arms around Thorin’s torso, but Thorin caught it as it fell past his elbows, unwilling to have Bilbo completely naked so quickly. He pulled at the gown, bundling Bilbo up in it and forcing him closer to press another kiss onto him. At the same time, Thorin let his growing erection nudge against Bilbo’s thigh, and he moved closer with each kiss and edged his pelvis forth until his prick slipped into the crook of his inner leg, entering his groin and nestling snugly next to Bilbo’s own cock, as if to foreshadow what he intended to do to him afterwards. The fabric of the gown was taut around Bilbo, restricting his movements, but still gave him ample room and mobility to push Thorin’s robe away from his body entirely, finally stripping the king of all his clothes.

The sight of him in the buff, along with Thorin’s constant physical attention to the sensitive parts of his chest, made Bilbo begin to grow hard, even in the poor light. He let Thorin fill everything in his world, where they were, wound up with love and heat and passion so large for two so short. Lust consumed him, and Bilbo could not hold back from pitching forward and smothering Thorin’s mouth, wanting to feel his beard on his cheeks and chin. He reached up and stroked Thorin’s hair, combing his fingers through it. Thorin sighed dreamily against his lips, turning Bilbo around using the gown. He pressed his palms onto Bilbo’s chest. “Now,” he said, and gave him a playful shove.

Bilbo fell flat on his back onto their bed and bounced bodily off the bed once, his gown caught underneath him. The golden dildo bumped into his side; Bilbo took it and placed it on their table. He noticed then that Thorin had placed a burner there, and there was a brass container being heated over it. It looked like a teapot, only a bit smaller and flatter and the top of it was lidless and wide open, and the spout was slender and much longer. Closer to it than he was before, a familiar aroma met his nose, and he recognised the lubricating oil that he and Thorin were fond of using to facilitate passage into each other. He sat up and looked inside the container. It looked to be almost three-quarters full of oil, which wasn’t a very large volume for tea but quite excessive for lubrication.

“That’s a lot of the stuff,” he remarked, unnerved by how much Thorin had estimated they would be using.

Thorin picked up the dildo and placed it into the pot, resting the handle against the side. “Better to be safe,” he explained. “I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

Bilbo sank back into the bed as Thorin approached slowly from below, licking his lips, which were wet and plump from all their kissing. There was a devilish glint in his eyes that made Bilbo shiver with anticipation, an expectation that he knew Thorin would drag out as long as possible like the dick he was where it came to sex.

Bilbo wasn’t disappointed in that — Thorin swooped over his groin, never breaking eye-contact with Bilbo and with an expression on his face that conveyed exactly what Bilbo thought he was planning to do. He moved his hands along the inside of Bilbo’s thighs, shifting them apart as his hands approached Bilbo’s cock, and then he secured it in a loose handhold. Grinning, he pushed back the skin by tugging downwards, revealing the head.

“I’m going to come,” Bilbo warned. “I mean it. I’ll come at once when I can, and you won’t be pleased, not one bit, and then you’ll —”

His words left him when Thorin slurped at his cock in one fleeting lick, pushing down gently on the head with his thumb. The counterpressure made Bilbo’s orgasm retreat and he fisted his hands in the sheets. He scrambled to get himself propped up on his elbows to see what Thorin was doing. Thorin met his gaze with yet another look that meant that he was not going to have any of what Bilbo had threatened, daintily pressing his lips onto his cock in a mocking kiss and removing them just as quickly, repeating the motion until Bilbo was trembling and shaking and aching to burst. A gob of precome dribbled out of his slit and down his cock, which Thorin lapped up at once, but still he did not take it into his mouth, preferring to dip his tongue in and out of his shiny slit.

“Oh, oh, this is terrible of you!” Bilbo wailed, beating the sheets in frustration.

Thorin cocked an eyebrow, then dropped down to slip his lips over Bilbo’s cock. Without anything so much as a warning, Bilbo was caught unawares and his body jolted. His elbows gave out and he plonked back onto the bed, making keening noises as Thorin sucked and puffed. His lover was diabolically methodical with his blowjob technique, applying the fullness of warm breath and saliva-slicked flesh for sensation, but withholding friction along his shaft to delay climax.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Bilbo’s breathing turned to pants and sharp inhalations, throwing his head back onto the mattress with a muffled thud. He couldn’t bear to watch anymore; just the feeling was almost too much to handle, a relentless push-pull that nearly left him in shambles while he bucked his hips involuntarily. He wanted to come more than anything, and his cock was sensitive and wet and stiff, and he would have begged for released if Thorin had demanded him to do so, but Thorin was adamant and kept him back from the edge continuously by dropping Bilbo’s cock from his mouth and pushing on the head. He dropped his grip to the base and gave one long upward pull, stroking his full length once and leaving it oozing precome on his belly.

“Maybe it’s time we tried something different,” Thorin rumbled, giving Bilbo’s balls a coy tug.

Bilbo blinked hard, bringing up an arm to wipe his eyes. Part of him was peeved and frustrated at Thorin for stopping, the other part loving him madly. He sniffed and nodded. “Show me,” he said, more of a request than a command.

Thorin crawled up his body slowly, taking as much of it in with a fashion that could only be described as pure, unadulterated idolatry. The bed dipped under his weight as he approached. From his groin up to Bilbo’s neck, there did not seem to be a single bit of Bilbo’s front that Thorin did not want to kiss. His lips navigated over his skin, kissing frequently and tonguing nearly as often — his left kneecap, his groin, his navel, down to a pockmark nearly hidden in his pubic hair. All the while, Thorin’s breath came out hot and damp against Bilbo’s skin, which was turning equally hot as Thorin ravished him with his mouth. He was hot, so very aroused, and immersed himself in the way Thorin’s chest hair tickled his cock every time he moved up his body.

At his stomach, Thorin paused, staring and breathing heavily over it. There was a hungry look on his face, and he licked his lips lasciviously. Bilbo found out quite quickly that Thorin had a lustful fascination with his midsection, which was doughy and soft and a little chunky, prone to cushioning palpations as Thorin’s hand pressed lightly into it. He squished his belly with the heel of his hand, curling his fingers over his skin and raking them through the line of velvety fuzz joining his chest and pubic hair.

“I love this,” Thorin said to his bellybutton, putting his face to it and taking a long breath in through his nose and mouth. “I love you.”

“You’re making me jealous,” Bilbo joked, petting Thorin’s head.

He reached Bilbo’s chest, where he nuzzled his nose against the sparse brown hair covering it. With both forefingers, he brushed Bilbo’s nipples, circling, dancing over them, and pushed down on them as he continued his advance upward until he was lying on top of Bilbo, kissing him senseless again.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered into Bilbo’s mouth. His tongue flicked inside, then out again.

“Of course.” Bilbo took his tongue deeper, focusing on breathing in every scent that Thorin was exuding — sweat, musk, the sharp tinge of his own precome. Thorin’s cock throbbed against his stomach, leaking a slow slickness over the both of them.

“I want you to remember. The _word.”_

It took half a minute for Bilbo to remember and nod slowly. _Golden,_ they’d agreed upon, for either of them when no meant no.

“Remember,” Thorin said urgently. For a moment, he was the serious king once more, and his eyes were dark with concern. He wrapped his arms around Bilbo and pressed his cheek to his. “I would never forgive myself if I ever brought you to harm, even more so for something such as this.”

Bilbo nodded the best he could underneath Thorin’s weight, his curls bobbing. “I remember, I remember.”

Smiling, Thorin sat up and turned Bilbo over onto his belly, removing the gown and placing a pillow underneath Bilbo’s chin for support. “Use mine,” he murmured, plumping the pillow. “So you can smell me all the while.”

That, Bilbo agreed on. He’d been with Thorin long enough to know how much he loved being able to smell him, even when he wasn’t there. Sometimes, when Thorin was out on official business, Bilbo would be left alone and when he was feeling exceptionally naughty, he’d have a wank on their bed with his face against Thorin’s pillow or one of his unwashed furs. He settled comfortably onto the soft pillow, stretching himself out, and as he did Thorin held his wrists together and produced a red silk scarf from under Bilbo’s own pillow.

Bilbo’s eyes widened as Thorin wrapped the scarf around Bilbo’s wrists in repeating figure-of-eights until they were padded and secured together, leaving a mass of silk between them. It wasn’t something that they had ever done before, and Bilbo was curious and a bit frightened at the same time, but he was fascinated more than anything. Experimentally, he tried to pull his wrists apart, but to no avail. The scarf had been chosen well — it was soft enough to keep his wrists from straining or hurting even if he pulled hard on it, but strong enough to form a near-inescapable bond with the right kinds of knots.

He clenched his hands over each other while Thorin reached into a drawer on the bedside table and took out a belt. Thorin looped it through the space left by the scarf and fastened it to a ring embedded in the wall behind the headboard of their bed (Had it always been there? Bilbo couldn’t remember), and then he adjusted Bilbo’s body such that his wrists rested nicely on the bed and he could move about, but only just from side to side. As with the scarf, Bilbo pulled at the restraint, testing the slackness Thorin had left in the belt, and he found that where he was with his arms fully stretched before him, he could only move his hands back a little more than an inch without resistance from the wall.

At that point, Thorin sat on the back of his legs, pinning him to the bed. Bilbo exhaled a shaky breath as Thorin’s weight sunk between his legs, driving his thighs apart. Even though he was looking straight ahead at his bound wrists, he could feel Thorin staring at him, drinking him in. He still did not touch Bilbo, just waiting there, until Bilbo shifted a little bit and then he all of a sudden he felt Thorin’s lips grazing the curve of his arse.

“You,” Bilbo gasped, twisting his head to try to get a better look, but all he could see over his shoulder was a tangled mess of dark hair rising above his pale buttocks. Thorin was still holding Bilbo’s thighs down with his elbows, making it impossible for him to see any more than that without kicking him in the stomach. His hands sneaked into the crack of Bilbo’s arse, prising them apart slowly.

“You’re gorgeous,” Thorin murmured in the same tone of voice he had used when he had held the Arkenstone for the first time after the battle. Teeth were being dragged over where lips had been previously, giving short nips along taut, fleshy cheeks, and then Bilbo felt the long hairs lining his hole being clamped between them and pulled on. Enticingly, Thorin rested the tip of his tongue on his perineum and flicked at it. “I want you so much.” He licked Bilbo’s hole using the entire length of his tongue, teasing a shiver out of Bilbo’s hips and shoulders.

“You shouldn’t,” Bilbo squeaked, tugging at the scarf uselessly, trying to shy away from Thorin’s inquisitive tongue. It wasn’t so much a problem on his part as he thought it should have been for Thorin; it just didn’t seem right to have any part of Thorin’s mouth near where he did the filthiest things in what he thought was the entirety of living memory.

But Thorin had absolutely no reservations about holding Bilbo still by his cheeks and easing the tip of his tongue into his hole. The penetration made Bilbo yelp with arousal and shock; unlike the feeling of a finger or a cock, a tongue felt most peculiar indeed. It was much stronger than Bilbo thought it would be, teasing into the clenched muscle and laving all over it between suckles and kisses, but even as his tongue speared him over and over, it was shallow and perfunctory and lacked the kind of depth that Bilbo drew the most satisfaction from. Still, his erection swelled into the bed so quickly Bilbo nearly called out in fright and pained arousal, and turned a little to let his twitching cock breathe, taking some of the strain off it. Thorin immediately removed his tongue and pressed a strong thumb to the head of his cock, leaving his arsehole unmolested and slowly bringing Bilbo back from the threshold of orgasm. His erection subsided.

“I do wish you’d stop doing that,” Bilbo whined. He was beginning to understand why Thorin had restrained him; if he was allowed to just touch himself, it would only be a matter of seconds before he would come.

“Can’t have you spoiling the fun so early.” He reached a hand over Bilbo’s head and immersed two of his fingers into the pot of oil, testing the temperature. When he lifted his hand out of it, Bilbo saw that his digits were dripping with the stuff. The oil was thick and slippery, shiny in the candlelight. Thorin sat back up on Bilbo’s thighs, spreading his legs wider still. Bilbo made another futile attempt to follow Thorin’s movements, muffling his frustrated shriek in Thorin’s pillow as he lost sight of those slicked fingers.

Then, one of them was pressing gently over his arsehole, rubbing oil into the opening, tracing the puckered skin in circles. “Going to loosen you up a bit first,” Thorin murmured, and then he slipped it inside.

Bilbo squealed and pushed his face into the pillow to hold back the most undignified sounds that he would have made otherwise. He surfaced to draw a ragged breath, his mind overwhelmed by the feeling of Thorin working a finger around inside of him. Trying to relax brought no result whatsoever; he contracted hard on Thorin’s finger as it prodded around, seeking the spots he knew that would have him pleading to come by the time it was over. He’d done it many times over, Bilbo knew, and could have been considered an expert of sorts, in the matter of Bilbo Baggins’s arsehole and the way to send him absolutely around the bend with just one adventurous finger.

Thorin drew his finger back, leaving just the first knuckle inside, and Bilbo barely had time to gnaw down on the pillow before two fingers were pushing inside him. This time, Thorin curved his fingers downward to reach whatever he was finding with the first, twisting his fingers around to stretch the ring of muscle outward, alternating with sharp, timed thrusts into him. He found Bilbo’s prostate through the wall of his anus, a characteristic bulge of resistance beneath the sticky skin, and Thorin massaged it languidly as Bilbo cursed and swore and saw stars.

“I — I, _there,”_ Bilbo urged, the only words he could manage. The more Thorin kneaded unrelentingly at his prostate, the thicker Bilbo got. His thumb located the skin between Bilbo’s hole and the underside of his balls, moving in circles over it where the base of his prostate met the floor of his bowels, molding at it from both conceivable points. Bilbo arched his back, sweat dripping into his eyes, and flopped back down when Thorin stopped moving his fingers about inside of him.

“No,” Bilbo murmured groggily. His hips were shaking and he pushed them back, desperately trying to take more of Thorin’s fingers inside of him, willing them to start probing and worming around once more. But Thorin withdrew his fingers again, leaving just the tips buried inside him, and Bilbo was about to scream at him when Thorin spoke.

“Relax,” he said hoarsely. Bilbo felt a third fingertip touching the outside of his hole, and then it joined the other two at the first knuckle before Thorin slid all three into him up to their bases. He was slippery and wet and panting by the time Thorin resumed prodding, the buckle of the belt clinking incessantly against the chain as Bilbo wriggled underneath Thorin and tried to pull his own hands back instinctively, almost blinded by pleasure. He smacked his forehead into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned with the sensitivity of it all.

Holding the pot, Thorin drizzled more oil over Bilbo’s hole and worked it inside him patiently, spreading his fingers against the muscle to widen it up for passage. His middle finger bobbed relentlessly over his prostate while he scissored with his forefinger and his ring finger, burying his finger pads in hot flesh. When he was loose enough, Bilbo felt Thorin place the tip of the spout into his hole and a warm sensation not unlike that of come began to flood the inside of his anus. With his fingers, Thorin continued to work Bilbo open diligently, slathering his walls with the oil he poured into him and stroking him slowly, burrowing deeper and deeper with each calculated thrust.

“How much longer?” Bilbo gasped. His orgasm was fluttering, taut as a drawn bowstring, and he was so very sensitive from the merciless fingering, only needing just a bit more to sprout into beautiful bloom.

“Almost.” He replaced the pot of oil back onto the burner; Bilbo saw that the dildo was gone. Something roosted in the crack of his arse, trailing down to nudge tantalisingly over his stretched hole; for a split second Bilbo thought that it was the dildo, but Thorin’s fingers were still buried deep in his bottom and as the thing thrummed and rubbed against the side of his cheeks he realised that it was Thorin’s cock.

Bilbo turned his head, confused. “Wait, what about the —”

“Yes, yes,” Thorin said soothingly as he slid his fingers out with a soft slurping sound and Bilbo found himself squirming and whimpering, clenching onto nothing but the oil still trapped in his anus. Some of it leaked out and ran down the underside of his balls, seeping warmth into his perineum. “Not yet. I’m still going to use it, let me just…” He drifted off as he squeezed Bilbo’s cheeks together around his shaft, letting out a moan as he started to slide his prick through his cleft, taking advantage of the dribbling oil and letting his glans protrude from the other side. Bilbo felt how _hard_ he was and felt a sense of awe at how he’d managed to put off coming for so long.

Thorin’s cock began to glide lengthwise, and he grabbed Bilbo by the arse with both hands. Taking up his cue, Bilbo tensed his cheeks, clamping Thorin’s cock in place while he slicked it back and forth, moaning as he did so. “Durin’s name,” Thorin whispered.

“You like that?” Bilbo asked unsteadily. It was another novel sensation, having Thorin between him instead of inside him where he belonged, and Bilbo silently reveled in finding another way to pleasure Thorin. He was firm and sweaty along the oily fissure of his arse, and at times the edges of Thorin’s glans would withdraw below his crack, dripping precome to form a decadent mix of lubrication. Furthermore, it was much easier like that, clenching down hard to simultaneously give Thorin’s cock the friction he needed and to retain as much oil as he could in his rectum, anything to concentrate on aside from the horrible emptiness Thorin’s fingers had left in their wake.

“Mm.” He slid his dick from between Bilbo’s cheeks and probed a finger into his hole again, testing the muscle for recovery.

“Now?”

A pause. “You want to do this,” Thorin asked quietly. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Bilbo nodded excessively, fisting his hands around the belt binding them to the wall. “I want…I want to.” And really, why not? They’d did so many things they had never done before that night as it was. He turned his head and gave Thorin a shaky smile. “Either way I’ll be having it up my arse one way or another. May as well have you do it.”

Thorin’s eyes softened, wanting and impassioned concern pooling together into an expression that made Bilbo’s lips tremble. He pushed Bilbo’s legs even further apart until he could go no further. The protruding end of the metal dildo was allowed to drop against his hole as Thorin widened him using two fingers, and slowly, with utmost care, he edged the head into Bilbo.

Unable to stifle a gasp, Bilbo shuddered, curling his toes inward as sparks raced up his spine and lights exploded at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t expected it to feel like this, so rigid and lifeless and impossibly unyielding. Past all thoughts and speech, Bilbo went deathly still. His hole spasmed around the dildo outside his volition and he jerked his knees uncontrollably, a shattered groan quickly following the gasp.

Immediately, the dildo stopped moving into him. “Are you alright?” Thorin asked. “Do you want to stop?”

Bilbo shook his head frantically. “No, no, I didn’t say the word!” He dropped his face into the pillow, panting. More than anything, he was willing for the dildo to slide all the way in, quietly willing himself to open up even more than he was to take it; Thorin had said himself, after all, that the dildo was modelled after his own dick, and having it in him made him feel as though he was accepting even more of Thorin than what would have been possible otherwise.

As Thorin resumed nudging the dildo into his arse, Bilbo contracted his muscles eagerly, trying to make more room and draw it into his passageway. His dick softened under his belly, but remained fat and sticky with precome and oil. The dildo itself was smooth and oddly warm, and slid past the resistance of his sphincter without too much difficulty. Thorin eased a finger between the surface of the dildo and the edge of his stretched anus, and he ran it around the circumference of the dildo as he pushed at it by the handle.

It was an unprecedentedly thorough penetration unlike anything he had experienced before; he squeezed and closed around it, but the metal refused to yield to him the way Thorin’s cock always did.

 _“Mahal,”_ Thorin rasped in a voice filled with wonder. The probing of his finger vanished, and Bilbo heard a clatter of metal before the spout of the pot was once again feeding a generous volume of oil into him. Replacing the finger, he rotated the dildo, rocked it in a half inch with each push, all the while expanding Bilbo wider still with his tireless fingers to accommodate the width of the entire dildo. Bilbo was sensitive and quivering and in tears, but aroused beyond all reason, imagining how he must look to Thorin, who was breathing heavily behind him.

The dildo stopped moving, and Bilbo knew that he had all of it inside him apart from the handle. Thorin withdrew the dildo an inch, then sank it in again further than what it had done previously and Bilbo mewled like a newborn babe at the feeling of being opened up so far in where even Thorin had never touched before. Thorin was twisting the dildo in circles, pushing a thumb into his perineum as he pushed deeper. It filled him completely, bulging against places where a cock would have not been able to reach easily, and any movement made the metal shift inside him as well, resulting in a low, burning stimulation that provided little comfort from the intense need to come at once.

“Thorin,” he whispered, and then without warning the entire dildo was slipped out of him. Air rushed into his gaping hole, cooling and formless, and Bilbo gasped in shock as he clenched and struggled, hopelessly seeking something, anything to fill him up again. “Thorin — _Thorin!”_

“Hush now,” Thorin murmured back at him, and answered his cries by stuffing all five of his fingers back inside of him. His long digits dipped effortlessly into the space dilated by the dildo up to the second knuckle of his middle finger, wriggling about freely over his walls. Before Bilbo could react or moan or say anything, Thorin gave an almighty, daring push, and Bilbo had a second to think _oh fuck_ and then the next thing he knew was that Thorin’s entire hand was being swallowed whole by his body. There was a tight, dangerous, almost-painful strain that segued rapidly into wondrous pleasure as the widest part of his hand met and battled the clenching muscle, and Bilbo took as deep a breath as he could, trying to relax, and then it yielded and passed into him and Bilbo was left contracting his rectum hard around Thorin’s wrist.

Thorin let his fingers wrap around his thumb, fisting his hand and sliding it in deeper. The bulbous contact of his rounded fist was packed into the untightened cavity of his bowels, and as Bilbo lay stunned he could feel the bones and joints of Thorin’s knuckles enveloped all around, as though every nerve ending in his arsehole had been struck by lightning. His cock swelled and he choked on a scream and writhed against his restraints as he orgasmed, trembling and unwinding and relieved from the blessed release that had been building up from the moment Thorin had laid his hands on him. “You are incredible,” Thorin said in a half-whisper, moving his fist in and out languidly.

“I am?” Bilbo shuddered, his head still hazy and unfocused from the endorphin high of finally climaxing. “Th — thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” He tried to sit up and look, but forgot quite entirely that he was still tied to the wall. His wrists jerked back and he fell face-first into Thorin’s pillow with a curse, thwarted.

“I’ll release you once it’s over.” He pulled his hand out of Bilbo slowly, once again leaving Bilbo immensely hollow and exposed. Then, something stiff and warm and familiar slid smoothly into his hole and Bilbo clamped onto it instinctively; finally, finally Thorin’s cock had breached him, and it was all Bilbo could do not to weep with joy at the welcomed intrusion, even with a large puddle of his spunk staining the sheets beneath him. Thorin murmured his name, and with a lazy roll of his hips, he thrust gently into Bilbo, fucking him slowly with a steady rhythm, pushing outward and then in again to feel the clench of Bilbo’s arsehole on his cock.

“Harder,” Bilbo wailed, pulling the belt in front of him taut and shoving his hips down onto Thorin as much as he could allow. “Oh, goodness, _harder!”_

Thorin was all too eager to comply and upped the tempo of his pierces, punctuating each one with a low, aroused groan. He muttered under his breath, over-stimulated from all the oil and friction, and once he was all the way in, he let his musky body fall forward on top of Bilbo. He kissed the back of his neck and sucked his earlobe, tasting him and continuing with the motion of his hips forward and backward, pushing his cock tenderly inside him. “I’m in you,” he whispered in near-disbelief, the same way he did every time he penetrated Bilbo's bum. “Oh, _Mahal,_ I love you.”

“I…” Bilbo’s mouth was parched, his tongue betraying him to passion and heightened sensation, amplified by every throb and twitch of Thorin’s cock inside him.

 _“Bilbo,”_ he slurred, like a man dying of thirst would ask for water. “Let me…let me just —”

“Yes.” Bilbo was nodding reassurance, even though he wasn’t sure if Thorin could see him at that point. He swiveled his head and met Thorin’s ear, kissing the shell and sticking his tongue into it. “Yes, do…do it. I want — I want…” he hissed.

Thorin faced him, eyes blown and darkened with love. He aimed a sloppy kiss at his lips, missing and landing it just below his left eye. His hands scrunched the sheets and crawled to grasp Bilbo by his armpits, lifting himself up slightly such that his weight was focused on his snapping pelvis. Bilbo felt his body shake along with Thorin’s, and then warmth was being injected into his already-full anus in heavy shots, drawn out over a long feral groan of satisfaction from Thorin.

“Bilbo, ohh, Bilbo,” Thorin gurgled drowsily as he went slack, draping himself over Bilbo like a blanket. Bilbo could feel the pulsing of his cock ebbing away as it softened inside him, and was faintly aware that Thorin was tearing into the bed.

“How was it?” Bilbo asked softly. “Did…did you like that?”

Thorin’s head moved on his shoulder in a motion that Bilbo took as a nod. He bumped his nose into Bilbo’s cheek and reached up, fumbling with both hands to untie Bilbo’s wrists from the belt. Finally, Bilbo was free to navigate his hands to Thorin’s face and he held him there, steadying him for a long, lasting kiss.

“How was it?” Thorin repeated at him. He was still sunk deep inside Bilbo, and didn’t seem to have any intention of pulling out any time soon, something that Bilbo was frankly fine with. “For you?”

Bilbo pondered over that for a while. “You stuck your tongue in me,” he said slowly, flashing back to the memory of that thin, lapping muscle parting him and licking all over.

“And you tasted like the finest of ambrosia.”

He swatted at Thorin’s cheek with a laugh. “Liar.” Thorin’s beard was ticklish on his chin; he pushed his nose into it and met his lips on the way up. He couldn’t say that it didn’t feel strange, having Thorin do all those things to him, but he’d reacted so beautifully to just about every one of them. “It was nice,” he admitted truthfully, shifting around to let Thorin gather him up in his arms.

His hair was disheveled and damp with sweat. Thorin combed through the clump of his brown hair and laid his hand there on top of his head. “That’s good. I am pleased that you liked it.”

“You were the best part,” said Bilbo. He always was. They were mad in their love for each other, and the volume of raw trust they exercised together was nothing short of surprising. “I mean it.”

The wrinkles under his eyes held Thorin rapt as he stroked the nape of his neck. Then, he pressed his palms into the bed and lifted himself out of Bilbo, turning to his side to lie naked next to him. He was clumsy and lethargic and semen was still matting in his pubic hair and all over his hairy abdomen. He reached behind him, stirred a finger in the remaining oil, and brought it to Bilbo’s forehead like an anointment, marking him. “Happy birthday,” he said adoringly.

Bilbo grinned stupidly, and thought about doing a little bit of planning himself for when Thorin’s own came around.


End file.
